


Don't Put Me to Rest

by angeloncewas



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguity, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Dialogue Heavy, Dialogue very heavy, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, If you ignore Glatt, Smoking, Temporary Character Death, Unreliable Narrator, i NEED to stress that, mostly - Freeform, no beta we die like friend, why did it capitalize need, with infinite canon lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloncewas/pseuds/angeloncewas
Summary: Ghostbur hadn't been thinking when he'd told Tommy he wanted to be brought back to life; he needs to die to bring back the Wilbur they knew. Death is always strange, even for a ghost.-“What are you doing?”“Smoking.”“Why? I don’t think that’s very good for you.”“I needsomethingto do.”
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Phil Watson & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	Don't Put Me to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly dialogue, stylistically. You have been warned :)

Ghostbur knows this scene like a fairytale from his childhood.

That is, barring the fact he never had one, and that the father who would’ve told him the fable has his sword pressed against the narrow column of Ghostbur’s spine.

It reads like someone else’s story, is the point. Witches and withers he never actually fought; he knows those buttons and that TNT, but he also doesn’t at all.

“You have to call me Killza,” Phil tells him.

He doesn’t remember this part. The scar in his chest, a line dividing his body into pieces, aches in a way Ghostbur hadn't thought was possible. He remembers freedom, elation, and hushed silence, not the sounds Wilbur made before it arrived.

Clutching his blue tighter, Ghostbur pushes his more complex feelings back and lets them dissipate like fine mist. He knows what happens here. He’s re-enacting a sequence he watched first through a stranger's eyes.

“Kill me Killza, please.”

Something in his voice breaks on the last syllable and he wonders for a second if they’ll miss him when they’ve found what they really want.

_Goodbye Friend._

Fear slips into the cracks in his memory as he stares into Friend’s eyes, but before he can inhale out of it, his vision goes blurry and then dark.

“I think there are people waiting for you.”

“I’m not waiting for them.”

  
  


“You aren’t very kind.”

“Yeah, well. That’s who they want and that’s who they’re getting.”

“I- I thought you said that you weren’t coming.”

“I’m not. That’s the whole point.”

“What are you doing?”

“Smoking.”

“Why? I don’t think that’s very good for you.”

“I need _something_ to do.”  
  


“You really should come see them.”

“I already said no.”

“But, they need you.”

“They have you.”

“I’m not strong enough to help them.”

“And you think I’m any better?”

“They seem to. They told me to come get you.”

“You are stronger than the strongest parts of me.”

“Don’t you want to get out of the void? I don’t like it here.”

“I’ve seen a lot worse than this.”

“Like what?”

“Fire. Destruction. Terror. Death.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t remember the bad things.”

“What’s that like?”

“Um, a bit like this. Quiet.”

“Quiet. Imagine that.”

  
  


“Is smoking fun?”

“Fun is for the living.”

  
  


“I wonder if they’re sad I’m gone.”

“How did you even get here?”

“Someone killed me. I can’t quite remember.”

“They… killed you? To find me?”

“I think they thought I was you.”

“Why?”

“If the ghost dies, the living comes back to life, right?”

“I’m dead. And we’re definitely not the same person.”

“They probably didn’t plan very well.”

“They never do.”

“Do you think if I was you, they would want me back?”

“They should. In any universe they’re a lot better off without me.”

“That’s not very positive. Have some- oh.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any blue with me. If I had some, I would give it to you.”

“The stuff I’m smoking is blue.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke blue. Does it calm you? Is it working?”

“If it is, it's doing a terrible job.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“No.”

“Do you wish you were?”

“Not particularly. My business is finished.”

“I think mine isn’t and that’s why I’m a ghost. But I don’t know what it is.”

“I wouldn't know any more than you would.”

“I rebuilt L’manberg because I thought that was it, but it didn’t change anything.”

“One bit of advice for you. Let that parasite burn.”

“Maybe you have the wrong kind of blue.”

“Or maybe you do.”

“No. My blue is nice.”

“So are wolves, when dressed like sheep.”

“I like sheep.”

“They’re easy to love.”

“Buttons, I like buttons too. At least I think I do.”

“...Chekhov’s gun fires again.”

“Is that a weapon?”

“No. It’s a- it’s just a thing. It means if it’s a part of the story, it’s important.”

“Am I a part of the story?”

“Depends on which one.”

“This one!”

“I’m the wrong person to ask. It’s not my story. Mine’s over.”

“It’s gone again now, you know.”  
  
“What is?”

“L’manberg.”

“How?”

“It’s all blown up. I don’t know who did it though.”

“Ha. Bastards had to re-do it. Couldn’t even let it be done.”

“Do you like being dead?”

“I’m a lot less at peace than I thought I’d be.”

“At... peace?”

“Mhm. Expected the void to be a little less aware.”

“I don’t like rain.”

“You could stay here. It never does.”

“You don't have the sun either. I like the sun.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“I miss it a little.”

“I didn’t like the void. The first time I went.”

“Well, I went willingly. You didn’t.”

  
  


“Are you sure you’re not coming with me?”

“I’m not talking to them.”

“I could talk for you! You’d just have to be there.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll come watch.”

The darkness is ripped away as his body jolts, its marionette strings abruptly drawn back at the shoulders. Ghostbur awakens from his pseudo-slumber to the concerned stares of his friends and a sharp _baa_ from Friend that punctures the air.

Phil's expression is urgent. “What happened?”

“I went somewhere dark,” Ghostbur pauses and reaches back into his mind to only see two wisps in the nothingness’ midst. “And there were two people there, and then I’m instantly back.”

“Who were the two people Wil?”

_I’m not-_

“I don’t know.”

Phil exchanges looks with the small crowd they’ve amassed and something about it makes Ghostbur feel like he’s melting under morning dew.

He nuzzles into Friend’s wool instead of thinking about it, its color comforting. The blue spreads like a vast ocean under his hands.

Something clicks, distantly. An unlocked door three levels above his own head.

“Why do I want a cigarette?” he mutters.

Friend bleats again, louder, and while Fundy steps back into the arm Eret hovers over his shoulders and Phil turns his sword over in his hands, Ghostbur attempts to blink away the awkward feeling that’s settled in his spirit’s-bones.

Nestled in between cartilage, he can feel the remnants of something both familiar and foreign, but he has no idea what it could possibly be.

**Author's Note:**

> All in all:
> 
> \- This was really fun to write  
> \- It's pretentiously abstract, but I hope you like it anyway  
> \- I'm scared to eat strawberries now because of that trend from months ago  
> \- Follow me on Tumblr? Same @, I pop off sometimes


End file.
